


The Deep End

by insanity_by_proxy



Series: Madness is Catching [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Drama, F/M, Guilt, Hostage Situation, Insanity, Jefferson goes off the deep end, Manipulations, Metamorphosis, Parents & Children, Redemption, Romance, Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanity_by_proxy/pseuds/insanity_by_proxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Jefferson's secret relationship continues, but it won't remain a secret for long. When major players in the Storybrooke hierarchy see Jefferson's madness as a tool to get what they want, Emma's life may hang in the balance. </p><p>Continuation of my fics Stress Relief, and Breaking Point. *Reading those first is recommended.*</p><p>Trigger warning for suicide attempt in latest chapters. This one gets dark, dearies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calling in a Debt

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone, real life got in the way at first, and then when the second season aired this story needed some revamping… well, that’s done now, and we can move on. So without further delay… This story takes place sometime after “The Return” but before “An Apple Red as Blood” in my slightly alternate, more Jefferson-heavy universe.

Jefferson ignored the spectacled eyes that followed him down the hall and up the stairs of the town’s small bed-and-breakfast. Granny had not been expecting a visit from the town’s now-infamous recluse, but she was not the one he was here to see.

Jefferson ascended the stairs two at a time, eager to be in and out of this visit as soon as possible. He had a dinner date at the Driscoll’s that evening which included being driven home by Emma; which was sure to include a sleep over with the town’s illustrious sheriff. This had been shaping up to be a good day… until Jefferson had received a phone call from August Booth. When Jefferson received the call he had just been stepping out the door on the way to his appointment with the town psychiatrist Dr. Hopper, who just so happened to also be a boy’s conscience in the form of a cricket… and recently, Jefferson’s own conscience. Once a week Jefferson would go to see Archie, talk about Jefferson’s home world of magic and fantasy, and then part ways, neither one any more or less convinced by the other’s reality. Archie did however provide Jefferson with useful advice as to how to live in this world with his madness and his delusions, who to tell them to, who to hide them from, and what to do if he felt himself losing control. It was all valuable information, so Jefferson tolerated the other man’s analyzing so that he could put a tick in that box, and then go and see the daughter he shared with the Driscoll couple. Once a week they would invite him over for dinner, a dinner for which the town sheriff Emma Swan was present, and then Paige would visit him without her parents on Sundays again with the town sheriff present. This was a routine that Jefferson had relaxed into easily, the ghosts of his past and therefore his madness, quieting considerably with the interaction with his daughter. He never mentioned anything of the Fairy Tale Land to her or of his sessions with Dr. Hopper, but Emma was given frequent progress reports, as she was his official guardian while he was still considered unable to care for himself. However, Jefferson’s relationship with Emma was not strictly business, as they had started sleeping together soon after Jefferson had hidden from the evil-mayor Regina in the flat Emma shared with her mother/friend, Mary Margaret/Snow White… Storybrooke was a complicated town for any sane person to keep track of, for Jefferson it was downright infuriating, the lines between his old fantasy world home, and this magic-less world blurring and blending erratically.

 Jefferson found himself standing in front of a solid oak door with the number 2 emblazoned on it in a brass numeral. According to Granny, this is where August Booth was staying, but to hear her grand-daughter Ruby tell it, he wasn’t doing too well.

Jefferson paused, his hand hovering above the wooden door before he shook away any remnants of his madness that were telling him to run screaming in the opposite direction of this encounter, then he rapped on the wood sharply three times.

“Who is it?” August’s voice sounded weak as it floated through the closed door.

Jefferson frowned. “It’s Jefferson.” He said. “You… asked for me.”

“Come in. It’s open.”

Jefferson entered the room but stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of August on the bed. One of his arms was draped over his torso, the other lay by his side. His breathing sounded labored and pained as it rattled around in his chest before being expelled with a wheeze. August lifted one arm and waved at him to come closer. The movement was jerky; as if he didn’t have full control over the limb.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jefferson asked warily, but even as he asked it Jefferson knew the answer. The hand that lay across August’s chest was a piece of finely carved wood.

“There’s no magic in this world,” August said, in between his gasping breaths. “And without magic, I’m still just a puppet.”

“Why hasn’t this happened sooner?” Jefferson asked. “Why didn’t you come to this world a puppet?”

“Because of the curse. The minute Emma got to Storybrooke and started to change things, she brought just enough magic into this world that I started to change back, as punishment for breaking my promise to my father.”

“And what promise was that?”

“My father made me promise to protect her, since he was adamant on sending me through the portal as part of his agreement to make it. It meant that Emma wouldn’t have her parents to help her.”

Jefferson frowned again, in distaste, he’d never known the carpenter but he sounded like a fool. “You were a child! How could you be held responsible for the care of an infant?”

August shook his head with difficulty. “Doesn’t matter, the magic doesn’t see it that way. I promised I would, and I broke that promise, so the magic is punishing me. All magic…”

“…comes with a price.” Jefferson finished.

“And it seems the price that I have to pay is my life.”

“So why did you call me?”

August stared at Jefferson for a long time, as if deciding something then finally he spoke:

“I need to call in that favor you owe me, for helping you during your hearing.” He said.

Jefferson nodded for August to continue.

“I want you to do what I couldn’t do – what I didn’t do. I want you to protect Emma.”

Jefferson huffed. “Emma doesn’t need protecting, and even if she did, I don’t think she’d accept it, from anyone.”

“Well tough, because she does, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You don’t even like me!” Jefferson said with his nose scrunched up like he’d smelled something sour.

August made an unpleasant sound, several sharp exhalations, which Jefferson guessed to be a laugh. “That’s true, I don’t; but I know we both like Emma. So can I trust you to do that for me?”

Jefferson, still startled by August’s affliction shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

August’s good hand shot up and tugged heavily on Jefferson’s sleeve, dragging Jefferson to his knees so that they were more-or-less at eye-level.

“I’m gonna need something a little better than _that_.” August snarled. “Promise me; _swear to me_ , that you will protect Emma from _anyone_ or _anything_ that wants to hurt her.”

Jefferson could feel the power behind the other man’s words, the magic curling through the room, making the air turn cold, and preparing to bind Jefferson to his word. But Jefferson could honestly not think of a scenario in which he would _not_ do anything to protect the Savior, his sometimes lover, his friend, Emma. So Jefferson ignored the hairs standing up on his arms, and the shiver going down his spine, and the way his scar was itching in an imaginary noose around his neck.

“I swear.” He said, clasping August’s hand in his own, even as it too turned to wood in his grasp. Jefferson shivered.

“Good, good…” August said, his eyes draining of their fire as a wave of exhaustion settled over him. “Thank you, Jefferson.”

“You’re welcome.” Jefferson replied, stretching out his hand repeatedly in an attempt to banish the eerie sensation of flesh turning to wood from his nerves. His scar was burning now, and the madman in his brain shrieked at him, railed at him, threw things and cursed. ‘ _What have you done, you stupid boy! That was magic, and magic is never so simple! Magic_ always _comes with a price. Are you willing to pay it? Can you even comprehend it?’_

“I’m tired,” August said, drawing Jefferson’s attention away from the Hatter. “You can leave now, just please lock the door on your way out.”

Jefferson left the bed and breakfast with a foreboding cloud following him all the way to the Driscoll’s where he was meant to have dinner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma couldn’t help but feel like a third… or maybe a fifth wheel, at these family dinners with Jefferson and the Driscolls. She wasn’t very good at family stuff, not really having much experience in such things. She couldn’t say she looked forward to them at all, but Paige’s parents still requested her presence, it had only been a month since Jefferson’s hearing after all. So she endured them, for Jefferson’s sake. Besides, he had many creative ways of repaying her during their little sleepovers, which were disguised as court-mandated monitoring sessions.

Emma was on her way to one of these “monitoring sessions” right now, with Jefferson sending her seductive glances from the passenger seat of her Volkswagen Bug every few minutes. That being said, almost everything Jefferson did could probably be labeled as “seductive,” such was the allure of the man; but Emma knew him well enough now to know when he was doing it on purpose. This was one of those times.

“Stop it.” She said. “I’m driving.”

Jefferson just smiled in a thoroughly self-satisfied manner but said nothing.

Jefferson had been going to see Dr. Hopper for counseling; another of the Driscoll’s conditions for his access to their daughter. Dr. Hopper had confessed to Emma some of his theories about Jefferson’s delusions, all without breaking patient-doctor confidentiality. He said that Jefferson’s “Wonderland” was the embodiment of a tragic event from Jefferson’s past; probably the car accident that had killed his wife, and led to the loss of his daughter. The “Mad Hatter” was Jefferson’s alter ego, who had been developed to distance his less savory actions from the good man that Jefferson was. So when Jefferson had somehow heard about Henry’s Fairy-Tale Land, he latched onto it as evidence of his own sanity, and thus expanded his own fantasy world. Jefferson and Emma had an unspoken pact, never to speak of these things. Emma never pressed him to divulge what went on in his therapy sessions, and in turn Jefferson refrained from speaking of Wonderland and curses. Their other pact involved never trying to convince the other of their insanity/ignorance; it made their relationship much more cordial.

Emma’s yellow bug pulled up the long drive way in front of Jefferson’s house and stopped under the overhang.

“Come in for a cup of tea?” Was how the formal invitation would always go, it was never just a cup of tea.

“Sure.” Emma inevitably replied.

Before either one knew it the cups of tea were left forgotten on the counter, as Emma and Jefferson discarded their clothing and stumbled up the stairs inextricably wrapped around one another. They had reached the top step before it dawned on Jefferson to lift Emma off the ground with his hands under her thighs, and those legs wrapped around his waist. This made it considerably easier to walk… however he’d eventually have to do something about the fact that his trousers were currently wrapped around his ankles and only allowing him to move in penguin-like shuffles... But Emma’s mouth was hot against his own, and her thighs squeezed his hips, and oh, her hands were in his hair, what was he thinking about? Jefferson tripped. Oh right, his trousers.

Jefferson deposited Emma neatly in the center of his large bed, the duvet cushioning her fall and puffing out around her to make an inviting looking nest. Jefferson shook his feet to free them from his pants and quickly crawled over her kissing a line up her body hungrily, paying special attention to her breasts as one hand teased her down below, making slow paths up and down her legs straying close to, but never touching that _ever_ -so-pleasant place between her thighs.

Emma’s head rolled back when Jefferson decided he wanted to taste that very same place, his tongue delving in and out between her folds, glancing across her clit now and then. When he eventually added a few clever fingers into the already tantalizing mix, it all became too much and Emma orgasmed with a breathy exclamation.

Jefferson looked up at her quizzically from her crotch, waiting for her to come back to her senses before asking: “Did you just call me ‘god?’”

He ducked as a pillow was sent whizzing towards his head.

Emma slumped back limply against the remaining pile of pillows, as Jefferson’s luxurious bed had many, panting heavily.

“If you hadn’t just done such a good job you’d be in serious trouble mister.” She said.

Jefferson merely grinned at her and licked his lips, the sight of which made Emma hot all over again. Jefferson leaned back for a second and rolled on a condom that seemed apperated from thin air. Then he crawled up the bed and settled over her, Emma’s legs automatically went around his waist and Jefferson took this as an invitation to push into her. They both gasped at the feeling, Jefferson’s eyes snapped shut and he began to thrust into her in tiny movements that gradually got more fluid as he found a rhythm that worked for both of them.

“I wasn’t calling you god, you know.” Emma said, in between gasps and pants.

“Weren’t you?” Jefferson asked incredulously.

“No-oh!” Her reply turned into a cry of pleasure. “Most definitely did not.”

“Emma?” Jefferson said.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Had it been any other person who’d said that to her, they probably would have gotten a punch in the mouth. Had it been in any other situation that _he_ said it in, he probably would have found himself without a ride to and from family dinners so fast his head would have fallen off.  But it wasn’t anyone else, nor was it any other situation, and really Emma couldn’t disagree, so for once she complied, and they both came shortly thereafter.

After another few rounds, and a cuddle session in the afterglow, Emma lay awake in Jefferson’s arms, her back to his chest and him snoring lightly into her hair. She was finding it difficult to sleep. Her conscience had kicked in a couple minutes ago, telling her how wrong this was, how much trouble she’d be in if anyone knew, and how dangerous the man who was currently drooling in her hair was.

Every voice in her head was screaming how bad of an idea this whole set up was, but her heart was, for once, not listening. Her heart was inexplicably attracted to this man. This man, who had once held her and her friend hostage, this man who was seven layers of crazy, but who was also a loving father, an attentive lover, and quickly becoming one of her better friends. Emma sighed, she wouldn’t be able to put off the long think she had coming for much longer; too much was happening far too quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning came quickly, but Emma had barely slept before Jefferson’s alarm-clock started chirping that it was time for her to go to work.

Emma stretched her stiff limbs and prepared to climb out of bed, but she found Jefferson wrapping his body all the more tightly against hers in response. Emma sighed and wacked him on the arm.

“Come on, let go. I need to get to work.” She said.

Jefferson’s reply was mumbled into her breasts.

Emma groaned in frustration then forcibly tried to remove herself from the bed. It took the better part of her body’s strength but eventually she did extricate herself from Jefferson’s grasping arms.

Emma stepped into the bathroom and locked the door knowing all too well that if she didn’t Jefferson would walk in on her and make absolutely certain that she was late. Twisting a couple knobs she adjusted the shower so that the hot water was quickly filling the room with steam. Then she stepped into the glass-and-granite enclosure and washed herself for another day of work.

When Emma finally stepped out of the bathroom, Jefferson was reclining on the bed with his hands folded behind his head, and his eyes closed. His hair was still playfully tousled from sleep, and he looked good enough to eat… But there were very few times when he didn’t look like that.

Emma began to hunt down her discarded clothes and dress herself under Jefferson’s watchful gaze.

“Now you’re sure I can’t convince you to call in sick? We could make a day of it.” Emma suppressed a shiver; she could hear the devilish grin he was wearing just by his tone.

“I don’t really think that’s a great idea. If I keep on calling in sick on Fridays, directly after our ‘monitoring sessions,’ someone will eventually know that something is up.” She said as she pulled on her jeans. Emma’s bra was draped over the lampshade by the bed, and her shirt was over near a bookcase in the corner, and Emma vaguely remembered taking her coat off downstairs.

Jefferson was pouting playfully, and Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. Generally speaking she was much more of a morning person than he was, but today it seemed that he was more awake than usual. Emma freed her hair from her shirt then leaned over the bed to kiss him good-bye, and had to once again struggle to escape from the bed, as Jefferson attempted to pin her down, and coerce her into staying.

“I’m sorry!” she said, though a laugh. “But I really do have to go. I’ll be back soon though.”

“You promise?” Jefferson asked, looking a bit unsure.

“Yeah, I promise. You’ll see me on Saturday.”

Jefferson gave her a tight lipped smile as she left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several hours later in the evening, Emma returned to the apartment she shared with Mary Margaret. Thankfully the day had been a slow one, involving one car accident, and sorting through the ever-present pile of paper work on her desk.

Emma stepped into the apartment and was immediately assailed with the scent of one of Mary Margaret’s home-cooked meals.

“Oh my god, that smells amazing.” Emma sighed.

“Hey, I missed you last night! That movie you love was on ABC last night.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Mary Margaret nodded a pulled a steaming dish of roast potatoes from the oven.

“Yep. So where were you?”

Emma paused for a moment as her brain raced to catch up with the conversation. “I was doing that weekly thing with the Driscolls and Jefferson, then I drove him back home, and then stopped for a drink at Granny’s on the way back, I got a little bit tipsy, and Ruby suggested I rent a bed for the night.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Uh-huh… So why do you have your overnight bag?”

Emma looked down at the duffle bag in her hand, and then looked back up at Mary Margaret.

“You weren’t at Granny’s, Emma. I know that because _I_ was at Granny’s… You’ve been staying at Jefferson’s haven’t you?”

Emma closed her eyes and sighed. “You caught me.”

“Emma, do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in?! I mean _really_ , is jeopardizing your job, and potentially your relationship with your son worth whatever you have going on with Jefferson!?” Mary Margaret yelled.

“No, but…”

“But, _what_?! What kind of relationship could you possibly have with the man who held us hostage!? Does that sound even remotely healthy to you?”

“That’s a bit rich coming from you!” Emma snapped. “Miss I-jeopardized-my-whole-life-to-be-with-a-married-guy. Miss I-still-have-feelings-for-the-guy-who-was-convinced-I-killed-his- _wife_!”

Mary Margaret looked like she had been slapped across the face.

Emma stared at her wide-eyed. “Mary Margaret, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –“

“No,” Mary Margaret interrupted. “No, Emma, you’re right. What I had with David wasn’t very healthy… But I ended it. So I think you need to decide whether or not your relationship with Jefferson is worth putting everything on the line for… you saw what happened to me, so learn from my mistakes.”

With that Mary Margaret stormed out of the apartment leaving her cooking on the stove, and leaving Emma standing in the middle of the room, staring after her.

Then her phone rang.


	2. Underneath the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson goes off the deep end, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The titles for this chapter were taken from the lyrics of the song “Barton Hollow” by the Civil Wars (A stellar musical duo, if you’ve never heard of them.) which I thought fit this fic rather neatly.

Chapter 2: Underneath the Water

Not ten minutes after Emma had left; Jefferson heard an insistent knocking at the door.

A part of him entertained the mental image of him opening the door and finding Emma standing on the other side. Returning because she had forgotten an article of clothing, or some word she had meant to leave him with, but really because she wanted to stay. They’d stare at each other awkwardly for a moment, then he’d lick his lips, or her finger would twitch, and then they’d be on each other. Kissing furiously, and tearing at each other’s clothes, until he carried her back up to bed, or she shoved him down right there in the front hall and had her way with him until they both saw stars.

It wasn’t Emma standing on his porch.

“Mr. Gold,” Jefferson said, blinking rapidly at the onslaught of negative emotions that came attached to the memories of this man, and to banish the intense day-dream he had been indulging in.

“Good morning, Mr. Lake.” The pawn-broker replied.

“What are you doing here?” Jefferson frowned.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’d love a cup of tea.”

Jefferson raised his eyebrows at the man, but stepped to one side in a silent invitation.

Rumpelstiltskin limped heavily past him and into his living room, casting a curious eye around the house.

 “Nice place you have, Mr. Lake, though at tad excessive for just one man perhaps?”

“What do you want?” Jefferson bit out, pinching two fingers at the bridge of his nose and moving over to the side board to pour himself two-fingers of Scotch, it was early, but a visit from Rumpelstiltskin was reason enough to start drinking at nine in the morning.

Rumpelstiltskin studied Jefferson for a moment before replying.

“I’m here to have a chat with you, about the curse.”

The cut-crystal glass of whiskey slipped from Jefferson’s fingers and spilled its amber contents across the carpet. The glass however, stayed intact.

“You remember?” Jefferson said when his breath returned.

“Oh yes, dearie.” Rumpelstiltskin, for this really was Rumpelstiltskin, replied with a hint of his old accent returning.

Mr. Gold’s knowing smile became that much more malicious with this new revelation.

“But – how?”

Rumpel shrugged and hobbled over to the fireplace to inspect the various bric-a-brac adorning the mantelpiece.

“Sheriff Swan is a very special young woman, as I am sure you already know…”

“How long?”

“Since she arrived.”

Jefferson was suddenly struck by an idea.

“But if people are waking up then –“

“Oh, I didn’t say ‘people’ were waking up.” Rumpelstiltskin interrupted. “Just me; sorry.”

Jefferson sighed and shook his head in an attempt to restrain the rage that swelled at the death of his sudden hope. ‘Controlling his impulses.’ The Cricket had talked about. Not acting on the madness was the first step to caging the Hatter for good.

“Why are you here?” Jefferson growled.

“Miss Swan is meant to be the savior of Storybrooke. I know you know that. The curse has affected us all; I believe you have a daughter you wish to return to… Paige is it?”

“Her name is – “ Jefferson snapped, but Grace’s true name died on his lips at the glint of pleasure in Rumpelstiltskin’s eye. “Not for sale.” He finished instead.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned regardless. “I too have things I wish to do, and I can’t do them stuck in this _charming_ little town.” He sneered. “But… Fortunately I know how to break the curse.” He said.

“How?”

There was a darkness in Jefferson’s voice, a barely restrained malice that Rumpelstiltskin had never heard before. Jefferson had once been his errand boy, a rash and selfish man, but useful. Rumpel had allowed the boy to leave his service when Jefferson had come to the Dark One’s castle to beg his freedom after his young daughter had lost her mother to Jefferson’s hat. But this was something different. This was _the Hatter_ standing before him, a being of pain, anger, and destruction, not the young man who had loved his life of adventure and riches, and who had ultimately given it all away for love.

Rumpel’s grin broadened. He had been hoping this new side of Jefferson would make an appearance.

“To break the curse we need a sacrificial lamb, so-to-speak.”

“Who?”

“Why, the Savior of course, dearie.”

“What do you mean?” Jefferson asked warily, the obvious implication of Emma’s death making Jefferson regain enough control to rein the Hatter in just a little.

“What I mean is that it’s time for Emma to fulfill her destiny. I want you to kill her. I want you to break the curse on Storybrooke. I want you to bring back the happy endings; because then, and _only_ then, will you be allowed to truly reunite with your daughter.”

“There has to be another way.” Jefferson pleaded, this revelation had shocked him even deeper than the first, and he struggled to contain all of the different strands in the tangled ball of string that served for his broken mind.

“What other way?” Rumpelstiltskin reasoned. “Either Emma Swan dies, and we can _all_ wake up and return to the way things were, or we can all stay stuck like this… but Miss Swan _must_ die for the curse to be lifted. It’s your choice.”

Jefferson tore at his hair and began to pace. Rumpelstiltskin watched him with interest.

“But Emma will age and die anyway, she’s not like us.” Jefferson pointed out.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “Yes, well, that’s not the same though is it? Emma dying of natural causes isn’t enough to break a curse like this one. Powerful magic needs an even more powerful magic to break it.”

“True-love’s kiss.” Jefferson said.

Rumpelstiltskin made a face as if he were weighing the options, then he shrugged again.

“Indeed, true-love’s kiss would be enough to break this curse, but who would she kiss? The old sheriff is dead, and as I understand it, the two of them became rather intimate directly before he died. I also heard he was suffering from memory problems the day before.”

“True-love isn’t restricted to one person in a lifetime.” Jefferson protested.

“True, but that still begs the question, who would kiss the princess?”

Rumpelstiltskin then smiled as an understanding dawned on him. Jefferson would have liked nothing better than to wipe that patronizing grin right off his face.

“Oh, I see. You think that _you_ could do it.” He said, gesturing to Jefferson.

Jefferson scowled.

“My, my, my, this little affair of yours’ _has_ progressed… Do you love her, Jefferson? Enough to be willing to neglect your own daughter for a fool’s chance that the esteemed Savior of Storybrooke would grow to care for you enough to invoke the most powerful magic in any world? Is that it?”

Jefferson said nothing.

“Well, let me enlighten you, Jefferson. That’s not going to happen. Miss Swan is incapable of true attachment; comes with the territory of being abandoned by one’s parents. Her own son is barely keeping her in Storybrooke, what makes you think that you can? And furthermore, what kind of parent puts their own needs before the needs of their child?” By the time Rumpelstiltskin had finished ranting, he was standing toe-to-toe with Jefferson and was very nearly yelling at the other man. Rumpel wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore, more focused on doing whatever it took to convince Jefferson of this task, so that he could begin his quest to find his own child.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jefferson said, the venom in his voice clearly showing that Rumpelstiltskin had struck a nerve.

Mr. Gold’s lip twitched in a barely contained snarl.

“Do yourself a favor, Jefferson,” He said, “Forget about the Sheriff. Killing her is the only _sure_ way to get your daughter back.”

With that, Rumpelstiltskin left Jefferson’s house almost as quickly as he had entered; slamming the door behind him, and leaving Jefferson’s already damaged mind, fractured to the point of fragmenting entirely. The Hatter was howling at him, other voices that accompanied him were ones he hadn’t heard surface since Wonderland. Voices of ghosts, imagined and real, his long-dead wife, his lost daughter, his brother, both Queens: red and black, and now Emma’s voice had joined the cacophony as well. All of them were shouting and pushing against his skull, striving to be heard midst each other’s shouts and his own thoughts. All of his regrets and mistakes in life lay bare before him; distorted, exaggerated, and transformed into horrifying monsters of nightmarish visage and proportions.

Jefferson had sunk to the floor, clutching at his hair and panting heavily. He stared blindly at his shoes, rocking back and forth like a frightened child, and muttering to himself, sobbing nonsensical phrases into the quiet air of his empty house while his mind cannibalized itself and plunged him once again, head-long into the dark, terrifying seas of his madness.

It _hurt_ , it hurt like hell: a hurt that hung in his chest like the scythe in that story about a pit and a pendulum and a pounding in his ears like a thousand drums used to scare off lions and unicorns alike, and what’s worse the Hatter was loose.

Jefferson stood stiffly after a while, though nothing had changed. The drying tears on his cheeks made his skin feel tight, and itchy. He moved over to a mirror that hung above the fireplace and stared at his reflection. The emotion and self-awareness that Emma, Archie, and Paige had all worked so hard to put into his eyes was now gone. They were now dark, emotionless place-holders in his face. His hair was sticking out in every direction haphazardly from his hands tearing at it.

The Mad Hatter reached up slowly and removed the scarf from around his neck. He let it drop to the floor carelessly, the whisper of silk hitting the ceramic tiles of the hearth. The scar around his neck looked raw as he inspected it, tilting his head to one side. It was burning him, itching like thousands of microscopic ants nibbling at the jagged line. Jefferson recognized the tingle of magic in that burn, and vacantly realized that it was the magic in the promise he had made to the puppet-man just yesterday.

That conversation felt so far away now, like it had been years and not hours ago. He had made that promise when he didn’t know that Grace’s freedom depended on Emma’s existence… or lack thereof.

Jefferson contemplated how he would do it; because he was going to do it. No matter how lovely Emma was, no matter how intoxicating their relationship had been, Grace was his daughter, and she would always be his priority. Emma had made him forget that temporarily with the promises of being able to interact with his daughter in this reality, of being able to share her…

“We shouldn’t have to share her.” The Hatter growled. “She’s ours, not theirs. How dare they think that they can keep her from us?”

Jefferson’s eyes darkened further in the reflection in the mirror. He didn’t like the man he saw, so he destroyed the image, his fist lashing out and breaking the mirror to pieces.

“They say mirrors never lie.” He said to no one in particular. “But we know better, don’t we? Mirrors can’t be trusted.”

Jefferson gazed at the blood seeping from the cuts on his knuckles hollowly. He dipped one finger from his other hand into the pooling liquid and then inspected the red droplet closely. It glistened and gleamed like a liquid ruby on the tip of his finger. Jefferson sniffed it curiously, then his tongue darted out and stole the priceless jewel. A coppery taste flooded his mouth and he looked back down at his injured hand. One heavy drop fell from the wound and soaked into the pristine white carpet amid the remains of the shattered mirror. All the while he muttered to himself angrily. Jefferson howled once more, clutching his head.

“Kill the princess, get the girl. Retrieve the daughter and break the curse, or let the pretty lady live? It’s all well and good, but it’s no excuse for going to hell in a teapot. The girl reminds of her mother, both of them do. Someone make them shut up! Run, run, run, don’t run, no – walk. There’s nowhere to run, don’t run! Trapped! Like rats in a maze. Sadistic tests to see if they can find the cheese. It hurts! Kill the girl, kill the princess. God, please kill me!”

Then with that tortured scream he dashed out of the house and towards the town.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jefferson crouched low in the bushes that filled the abandoned lot across the street from the house he was spying on.

His target was the woman inside. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she was washing the dishes from dinner earlier that evening. No car was in the driveway so Jefferson knew she was alone.

He moved around the house, jumping from shadow to shadow, his dark clothing aiding him in his efforts to remain invisible. He checked every window and the front entrance before finding that the back door had been left unlocked, and he stepped directly into the Driscoll’s kitchen uninhibited, he made sure to lock the door behind him.

Sarah Driscoll looked up as she noticed a dark shape in the corner of her eye. She jumped with a little shriek of surprise and dropped the glass she had been cleaning. It shattered on the hard kitchen floor and little shards of glass skittered around, one bounced off the toe of Jefferson’s shoe.

“Oh, God! Jefferson, you scared me!” Sarah said with a breathy little laugh.

Jefferson said nothing.

“I must not have heard you knock.” She continued. “Paige isn’t home right now; she’s at the movies with her father.”

A muscle in Jefferson’s cheek jumped. It was then that Sarah’s instincts warned her that there was something _very_ wrong.

“Jefferson, are you alright?” she asked, taking a step closer to him and then wincing as a shard of the broken glass bit into her bare toe. When she looked up again Jefferson had moved so that they were only inches apart.

“Grace,” He said.

“What?”

“Her name is _Grace_.”

Then suddenly he grabbed her. Jefferson spun Sarah around by her shoulder and had one hand covering her face with a damp cloth, while the other pinned Sarah’s arms behind her back.

Sarah gasped in surprise and immediately began to cough at the sickly sweet smell of the liquid the cloth had been soaked in. The smell was enough to gag her, and make her head feel light.

“Tell me, Sarah, does this smell like chloroform to you?” Jefferson whispered into her ear.

Sarah gave one last pitiful resistance before another round of coughing forced her to inhale involuntarily and blackness clouded over her vision.

Jefferson lifted the woman into a fireman’s carry as she fell limp in his arms.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He grunted, as he began to carry her to another part of the house.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma switched off the flashing lights of the official sheriff’s department vehicle, as she turned the corner onto the quiet residential street where Paige and her family lived.

The call Emma had received had been from the emergency response department at the station asking her to respond to a call a neighbor had made, reporting a strange figure lurking in the bushes around the Driscoll’s home. Apparently this unknown person was attempting to enter the house by various windows and doors. Emma’s stomach had dropped at the thought of who it might be skulking around in the shadows. She had though Jefferson had been alright and relatively calm when she had left him that morning. Had she read him completely wrong? Was she just deluding herself and ignoring the signs in front of her because she wanted to believe that he was improving? Emma couldn’t be sure, and her heart was pounding all the way from her apartment to the station, and then from the station to the Driscoll’s.

Emma added “ask Regina to increase the sheriff department’s yearly budget so that she can hire more help for similar situations,” to her mental list of tasks to be done in the near future. It had taken over twenty minutes to get here, and that was an absurdly long time for what might be a very dangerous situation.

Emma parked down the street away from the house in question and slowly made her way up to the front door from a blind spot in the corner of the house. Then she drew her gun from its holster and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Driscoll? Mr. Driscoll? Paige? Anybody home? I received a call from a neighbor, I’m just here to make sure everything’s alright.”

When no reply came, Emma tried the door. It was locked, so she went around the house to the back door. It was locked as well.

 “Desperate times…” she said, before crouching down and fishing a small set of hooks and pins out of her jacket pocket. A few seconds later her lock-picking set, left over from her previous lives of both thievery and then bounty hunting, tricked the simple technology into opening and Emma stepped into the well-lit kitchen.

Emma took a quick glance around, she didn’t see anyone but she kept her gun out and ready anyway. She took in her surroundings for clues: half-cleaned dishes lay in the sink and along the counter space and there was a spray of shattered glass all over the place, a few small puddles of blood suggested that someone had cut themselves and a trail of it led out of the kitchen. Someone had clearly been here recently.

Emma followed the blood-trail out of the kitchen and into the living room, which was also devoid of human life, but where she found a damp dishtowel lying in the hall. Before following the trail any further Emma cast a brief glance out the front window to make sure that no one could have seen her approach.

Suddenly Emma heard the sound of muffled screaming and a series of loud thumps from the second level and Emma quickly ran in the direction the sound had come from. She called out in hopes that someone would shout again to guide her.

A muffled sobbing did guide her into the guest room where Emma found Sarah Driscoll tied to a chair and gagged in a way that made her immediately recall Mary Margaret’s own kidnapping. The window behind Sarah Driscoll was open the curtains swayed gently in the cool night breeze that wafted into the room.

“Mrs. Driscoll,” Emma said, rushing forward. “It’s ok; it’s going to be ok.”

Emma untied the woman’s gag first and Sarah dissolved into hysterical sobbing. Then Emma untied her arms and legs and Sarah shot out of the chair like it burned her, before her legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor.

“Listen, Mrs. Driscoll, this is really important.” Emma said, crouching so that she was on eye level with the woman. “You’ve got to calm down for me, yeah? I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

Sarah made her best effort to calm her sobbing, but only managed hyperventilation.

“Is the person who did this still in the house?” Emma asked.

Sarah shook her head; negative. Emma relaxed slightly.

“Ok, good. Now, Mrs. Driscoll did you see the intruder at all? Did you know them?”

Sarah nodded and burst into yet more hysterical sobs. Emma sighed, summoning all the patience she could muster.

“Hey, I _promise_ you, that I’m gonna catch this guy; but you _have_ to help me out here. You gotta tell me who it was.”

Sarah took in a few breaths before she managed to whimper her answer in between gasps.

“It was – it – it was _Jefferson_.”

Emma swore a blue-streak in her head that the devil would have been proud of.

“Ok,” she said aloud. “Where are your husband and Paige? Are they safe?”

Sarah nodded. “They were at the movies; they should be home any minute.”

As if by magic Emma heard the sounds of a car pulling into the driveway.

She turned back to Sarah and said:

“Ok, you and your husband should take Paige and go stay at Granny’s tonight. Tell her to bill it to the Sheriff’s station, and feel free to get anything you want, food, drinks, anything. I’ll be by in the morning to take an official statement.”

By this time Patrick Driscoll had found the evidence of a struggle in his kitchen.

“Sarah?” He called, still not quite understanding the gravity of the situation that had occurred.

“Patrick!” She called back; there was still a hint of panic in her voice. “I’m up here!”

There was the sound of two sets of feet pounding up the stairs.

“Oh my God, Sarah! What happened!?” Patrick demanded when he entered the room and saw his wife on the floor with the Sheriff kneeling beside her.

Paige flew into her mother’s arms.

“Mr. Lake had a relapse.” Emma explained calmly, and a feeling of horrible dread twisted through her gut at the dark look that passed over Patrick’s face.

“Are you alright?” He asked his wife.

“Yes, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, _really_. Just frightened me a bit is all.”

Emma had to admit that she was impressed by the reserves of strength that Sarah had dredged up to save face in front of her daughter; considering the emotional wreck she had been a few minutes ago and justifiably still should be.

Emma stood from where she had been kneeling.

“Right, I’ve already given Mrs. Driscoll some instructions, but right now I need to go and find Mr. Lake.” She said.

“Let me come with you.” Patrick stepped forward gallantly, with a determined look in his eyes.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Emma replied.

“But –“

“Mr. Driscoll,” Emma said stepping forward and taking him aside. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, and I understand why you made it. But you need to be with your family right now, don’t you think?”

She could see him weigh her words against his conscience, and she saw when he accepted them as the truth, because he visibly drained of any energy the adrenaline of anger had given him, and aged about five years in the process.

“Good.” She said, then repeated her instructions to Patrick about spending the night at the town’s little inn.

“And remember,” She added, “If you need _anything_ , or have any questions, call me.”

“Thank you Sheriff.” Sarah Driscoll said, implying everything that had occurred that night.

Emma nodded. “I’ll be back.” She promised and then left the family’s home in order to find the man who’d done this.

She case one last look at Paige though, and saw that the girl looked far more conflicted on the issue than anyone else did. Emma didn’t think any of them would be getting much sleep that night, and that the nightmares and scars of it all would last longer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I thought about making the Hatter a truly separate personality. But eventually I decided that it wasn’t how I wanted to portray his madness. Jefferson has a LOT to answer for, and it would be better if he knows that it was all him, and not some other person that was living in his body. That would be far too easy. Jefferson’s got some major guilt coming, but what can I say? Sebastian Stan just looks so pretty when he cries. ;)


	3. Breaking Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma goes to see if she can find out what made Jefferson snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, life got a little hectic recently, and my muse fled for the hills. Hopefully the next chapter will be easier.

Chapter 3: Breaking Promises

Jefferson’s house seemed sinister in the encroaching darkness of the early evening, more so than it had even during the kidnapping incident when Emma had first entered it. That night seemed lifetimes away from where Emma stood now. The front door had been left standing open, from someone coming or going Emma couldn’t say. But now it was a black mouth, gaping wide and greedily devouring whatever came near enough for it to grasp. The windows in the front of the house were dark except for one, the one in Jefferson’s study. There was nothing that could give Emma any clues for what to expect once inside. 

Emma knew she should be angry or even nervous for her own safety, but all she could feel was a worry for Jefferson that churned at her guts. What had pushed him over the edge? This wasn’t merely one of his episodes of manic behavior, this was a full-blown relapse into his violent delusions. 

Emma rifled through the trunk of the old Crown Victoria for her Taser. Jefferson was still a friend so she didn’t want to hurt him, but Emma was a pragmatist to the core; she’d seen how violent he could be so she wasn’t going to take any chances. 

She entered the house carefully, her Taser primed and waiting in her hand. The living room was dark but Emma’s eyes had adjusted during the drive through the tall trees of the forest that hid Jefferson’s house away from the rest of the town. She hit the light-switch anyway half-expecting him to be waiting for her there in the gloom. 

The room was empty. 

A dark stain on the pristine white of the carpet drew Emma’s eye and she moved to pick up the cut-crystal tumbler that Jefferson liked to serve whiskey in. Emma set the glass on the mantelpiece and made another cursory glance around the room. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she thought:

‘There is something very wrong.” 

Jefferson liked things to be in their proper place; it was only when he let his madness take over that he became messy. An OCD-esque need for cleanliness and organization was one of the quirks that Emma had learned belonged to Jefferson, not to the Mad Hatter; a stubbly beard, or unwashed dishes in the sink were enough to let Emma know that Jefferson had had a rough day for some reason or another. An un-bleached stain in his carpet was just the same sort of clue. 

Suddenly the sound of footsteps and banging came from the level above her. Emma sighed in order to calm her nerves and followed the sounds upstairs to the door of Jefferson’s study. Light spilled out from the gap at the bottom of the door where it hung suspended millimeters from where the carpet of the hall met the hardwood floor of the study. In all the time she had been acquainted with Jefferson, Emma had never re-entered the room where the Mad Hatter had forced her into making him a hat. For the entirety of their arrangement the door had remained firmly closed and locked. It had been an unspoken agreement between them that that room was off limits to her, it held too many negative memories, too many unanswered questions that might shatter their fragile arrangement. Emma sighed again, she didn’t think she would have to worry about arrangements between Jefferson and herself anymore. It was unlikely that Jefferson would be allowed to live on his own after tonight. Regina would get her wish for Jefferson’s confinement after all, and Emma couldn’t really say she disagreed now. 

Emma could hear Jefferson moving things around inside the room, the unpleasant vibrating groan of something heavy being dragged; probably his desk. She knelt in front of the door to peer through the keyhole in an attempt to have some clue as to what he was doing. Emma caught a glimpse of Jefferson lifting a chair before she jumped back and it banged against the door forcefully. 

He was barricading himself in the room, she realized. 

Emma stood again, and knocked. 

“Jefferson?” she called. “Jefferson, open up, I need to talk to you.” 

Emma tried the door knob and as she suspected it was locked, aside from the large pile of heavy objects on the other side barring her entrance… or elsewise his exit. 

She heard something like pained laughter float through the wood.

“Oh, Emma,” Jefferson said. “You’d run far away from here if you knew what was good for you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because even I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m actually here to figure out what’s good for you. Why’d you attack Sarah, Jefferson?” Emma asked, trying to keep him talking while she figured out what to do.

“Those people have my daughter, Emma.” He said. “If someone kidnapped Henry you can’t seriously tell me that you wouldn’t tear Heaven and Hell apart to get him back?”

“I would.” Emma admitted. “But Paige hasn’t been kidnapped. She was adopted, remember? And I know it’s hard to share her but that doesn’t mean you can take matters into your own hands. I’ve wanted to with Regina, believe me I have, but you have got to do this legally.” 

“Why?” Came his reply.

“Because otherwise you’ll never see her again! Jefferson, open the door dammit!”

“No!” He cried, sounding half pained, half like a petulant child. 

“Why not!?” Emma was getting frustrated. 

“I can’t.” His voice was pleading. “Please, Emma, just go!” 

“Alright,” Emma sighed, “But Sarah is going to press charges, I’m gonna have to come and get you eventually. You understand Jefferson? I’m going to have to arrest you for what you did tonight!”

“Just leave!” He sounded as if he were crying, and Emma was more determined than ever to get into that office. She ducked into Jefferson’s bedroom and went over to one of the windows. Emma pushed the window open as far as she could and then kicked out the wire-mesh fly screen, so she could then climb out onto the roof of the porch that wrapped most of the way around the house. Cold night air rushed to greet her as Emma clambered out the window. She slowly crawled on her hands and knees over to the window of the study and peered inside to get a better perspective on the situation. 

Jefferson was indeed crying, he sat in the middle of the floor rocking back and forth with his hands wrapped around his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders. Emma pushed back a wave of sympathy that the part of her who was still Jefferson’s lover wanted her to feel. He wasn’t wearing anything to cover the scar on his neck she noticed, and she could have sworn it looked more raw than usual, as if he had been scratching at it. 

Emma’s mouth set into a determined line as she went to work breaking into the study. She tore out the bug-screen and began to work on getting the latch of the window undone using a switch blade from her pocket, and skills that she hadn’t utilized since her thieving days. A quick glance into the room and she saw Jefferson’s horrified expression as he realized that she hadn’t really left and was now breaking into his self-inflicted prison. He leapt to his feet and desperately tried to free himself from the room, tearing at the furniture and heavy objects he had used to barricade the door before Emma could get in. 

But Emma’s rusty thieving skills served her well and only a few moments later Emma was crawling head-first through the open window. Due to her precarious position she was completely blind-sided by Jefferson suddenly becoming violent, and he tackled her to the ground just as she was climbing to her feet. His hands were around her throat before she even registered what had just happened. Tears sprang to her eyes as pain bloomed behind her eyes from her skull hitting the ground. Thinking quickly and almost by reflex, Emma’s hand closed around an object within her reach and she swung it hard catching Jefferson’s temple. Jefferson cried out and sat back on his heels dazed by the blow and blinking stars out of his eyes. Emma scrambled out from under him, coughing and gasping for air. 

“Jesus Christ!” Emma swore when she could finally speak again, suddenly furious. “What the hell is going on!?” 

The knock to his head seemed to have brought Jefferson back to himself, if only for a moment. 

“Rumplestiltskin...” Jefferson muttered refusing to meet her eyes.

“What?” Emma snapped.

“The only way to break the curse,” Jefferson explained. “Is to kill you.”

Emma was now livid. “That is what all this is about?! Henry’s curse!? You can’t be serious!” 

“I’m sorry Emma, but I want my daughter back…” Jefferson said as if it explained everything.

“You had your daughter back, you idiot!” She cried. “You had her, and now you’ve thrown it all away, and for what!? And you’re prepared to kill me for it!? Has everything I’ve done for you, meant nothing!? All the times I stuck up for you, and defended you and comforted you and – Jesus, Jefferson does all of that mean nothing!?”

“I just want Grace,” He was on the verge of crying again, his eyes red with tears, and he curled in on himself as he spoke. “If I can just break the curse, she’ll wake up and remember, everyone would remember!” 

“And to do that you have to kill me?! Listen to yourself Jefferson, that’s –“

“Mad?” He interrupted darkly, but Emma ignored this sudden change.

“You have to forget about the curse Jefferson, or else you’re never going to get better. It’s not real!”

“It’s not real…” Jefferson repeated, with a little smirk. “Grace isn’t real. Alice isn’t real. This isn’t real!” Jefferson gestured violently to his scar as he stood. 

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he sighed. “Poor little orphan, Emma, who can’t see what’s right in front of her; wouldn’t see it even if it hit her in the face. Tell me, Emma, how did you get so bitter? When did magic lose its appeal? You’re like a sour old apple, dead before your time and that has nothing to do with me. So tell me, what happened to your imagination? When did you stop hoping that the world was more than it seemed?” He was standing toe-to-toe with her now and Emma was glaring at him. He had struck a nerve. 

Jefferson reached out to stroke a hand through her hair and she flinched away from him. He smiled.

“You’re scared of me.” He said, delighted.

“No.” Emma replied, but her voice trembled slightly and she moved her hand over the trigger of her Taser.

There was a tense moment as they both tried to stare the other one down, their eyes locked and Jefferson could see a righteous fire behind Emma’s green eyes, one that could purify this town with her fury should she ever set her mind to it. There was magic in her and she didn’t even know it, her constant denial that she was anything special would have been enough to drive Jefferson to a desperate madness even if he wasn’t already the Mad Hatter. She would not die without a fight that fire told him, and Jefferson experienced a moment of doubt about the ending of such a beautiful thing. This moment was enough to alert Jefferson to the searing pain of the promise he was breaking to Pinocchio, the magic had seeped into his scar and it was burning almost as badly as it had the day he’d received the injury. He could feel the promise like a serrated knife slowly shaving at the single thread tethering him to reality. The price of this broken promise would be the clarity he’d fought so hard to regain over the past twenty-eight years. If he harmed Emma he would never return to himself, even if the curse was broken. This meant that chances were that without even realizing what he was doing, ultimately, he would hurt Grace. 

In Jefferson’s eyes Emma could see nothing, only an emptiness and the hollow sadness of a person forced to endure tortures of the soul for too long without reprieve. But suddenly there was the flicker of something human, and Jefferson moved away and began unstacking the pile of heavy furniture he had used to barricade the door.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked cautiously after a moment.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Jefferson snapped. “I’m letting you go.”

Emma blinked. “But I thought – “

“I know what I said, Emma. But I made a promise to someone to protect you…”

“Protect me?” Emma asked indignantly. “I don’t need you to protect me!”

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Yes, Princess, but I’m protecting you from myself.” 

By this time Jefferson had dismantled the barricade enough that he could open the door to his study, and walked back to stand before Emma.

“It hasn’t meant nothing,” He said. “That’s why I made the promise to protect you in the first place, and I don’t regret it.” 

‘Even if it destroys me.’ He added to himself.

“Promised who?” 

Jefferson didn’t reply, he just stared at her hard. 

“Jefferson, what happened to you today? What caused all this?”

Jefferson’s lip twitched in a snarl. “Rumpelstiltskin.” He said, then he closed his eyes and corrected himself for Emma’s sake. “Mr. Gold.”

“What about Mr. Gold?”

“He came to visit me, told me that he wanted me to kill you to break the curse.”

Emma frowned and shook her head in confusion. “Why would Mr. Gold want me dead?”

“He also wants a child back…” 

“What does that mean?”

“Leave, Emma.” Jefferson insisted. “Leave, and if you come back… I will kill you.”

“I’m going to come back Jefferson, you know that right? The Driscolls are going to press charges and I’m going to have to arrest you.”

“Then bring a gun.” He said coldly, and he moved so that he was slouching in a chair with his face cradled in one hand as if he had a migraine.

Emma frowned at him, trying to think of a reason to protest but she couldn’t find one.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you.” She said, feeling the door between them closing in her mind simultaneous to the physical one she shut as she left his office.

“I’m sorry, too.” He replied in a whisper without looking up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma phoned Archie as she drove home. She had stopped back at the sheriff’s station and asked one of the on-duty officers to watch Jefferson’s house and to detain him if he attempted to leave. 

The phone rang four times before the psychiatrist answered. 

“Hello?” Came his voice, still half-asleep.

“Hey Archie, it’s Emma. Sorry it’s so late, is this a bad time?” she said.

“Uh, no. No, Sheriff Swan it’s not. What can I do for you?”

Emma sighed, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface as she remembered what had transpired that day. “It’s Jefferson…”

“…I see.” Archie said after a pause. “Should I go and see him?”

“No,” Emma replied, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“He… attacked Sarah Driscoll earlier today.”

“Oh my god, is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, but that’s what I was calling you about. Do you think you could go and check on them in the morning? I put them up in Granny’s for the night, and I’ve got to go and take a statement tomorrow, but I’d really appreciate having you there for… moral and professional support.”

“Of course, I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks Archie, you’re a saint.”

Archie chuckled wistfully. “Hardly, but I do what I can for people.”

It was late by the time Emma returned home, and she was exhausted both mentally and physically. As Emma pulled in the driveway she could see that a light was on in the living area, and the flickering blue-ish hue told her that the television was on meaning that Mary Margaret had waited up for her… or had meant to and had fallen asleep watching some late-night program again.

Emma entered the apartment as quietly as she could as a precaution, slipping off her boots before she entered and setting them down gently just inside on the shoe mat. Mary Margaret poked her head up from the back of the couch and looked Emma up and down.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re home late.”

Emma gave a tight lipped smiled. “Yeah.” She replied, letting her head thump against the hard wood of the door. She closed her eyes and felt all the emotions she’d held at bay finally crash over her.

Mary Margaret sat up further and her brow furrowed as she took in Emma’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Once again everything that had happened that day replayed in Emma’s head, from leaving Jefferson’s bed that morning, to having to break into the Driscoll’s house, and then learning that Jefferson was convinced he had to kill her in order to save his daughter, and it was all too much. Tears started to streak down Emma’s cheeks in blazing angry trails, and once the first one’s spilled more followed, and more and more until Emma couldn’t hold them back any longer and she began to sob, huge pain filled sobs that shook her shoulders and made her head ache. 

Mary Margaret was off the couch and had Emma in her arms in under five seconds. It took Emma five tries before she could relay the day’s events to Mary Margaret with any degree of coherency, and by the end of it Mary Margaret was crying too, but for Emma’s sake. 

Half an hour, half a box of tissues, and two glasses of whiskey each later; Mary Margaret and Emma sat on the couch and discussed what was going to happen next.

“I’m gonna have to arrest him.” Emma said. 

Mary Margaret frowned and squeezed Emma’s hand. 

“I’m sorry it came to this.” Mary Margaret said. 

“No, see, what you’re supposed to say is ‘I-told-you-so’ and then berate me for not listening to you when you said this would all blow up in my face.”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I never found that did any good…”

Emma gave her a look.

Mary Margaret nudged Emma with her shoulder. “…But I did tell you didn’t I?” 

“You did.” 

“Maybe it’s for the best, you know? Maybe now Jefferson will get the help he needs.”

Emma sighed. “I doubt it… Regina wanted Jefferson locked away before, now she’s actually got a legal justification for it.”

Mary Margaret frowned into the bottom of her whiskey glass. “And you said that he said Mr. Gold told him he needed to kill you?” 

Emma shrugged. “That’s what he said. Well, technically he said ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ told him to kill me.”

“And Jefferson thinks Mr. Gold is Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Yeah… it’s so weird because from what I’ve heard of Jefferson’s delusions, they are the exact same as Henry’s fairy tale theories; but I know they’ve never spoken to each other…” 

“That is weird… So, what are you going to do?” 

“I’ve got to go and talk to the Driscoll’s tomorrow morning… then I’m gonna go and talk to Mr. Gold.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? What if he actually does want you dead?” 

“Then, I’ll… be really careful. But something set Jefferson off yesterday, and I want to know what it was.” 

They were quiet for a while as they finished the last of their whiskey. 

“Are you going to be ok?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Emma said. “This isn’t the first time a guy’s screwed me over emotionally…”

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll tell you that story another time. Right now I’ve got to go to bed, I’m completely bushed and I’ve got a long day tomorrow too.” 

“You think you’ll sleep ok?”

Emma shook her whiskey glass meaningfully. “I should be fine.” 

The two women stood, hugged each other tightly, and then went off to their respective bedrooms. But as Emma lay in bed sleep refused to come and she lay awake, her mind still replaying the events of the day. She wondered what Jefferson was doing and forced herself to think of other things before those thoughts strayed to unwanted truths. Emma reached for her cell phone and pushed one of the buttons on speed-dial.

The phone rang a few times before the owner answered. 

“Emma?” Henry’s voice was thick with sleep, and Emma could feel the tears pricking at her eyes again.

“Hey kid, sorry to wake you.”

“It’s ok. What’s up?” he asked.

“I just wanted to say ‘hi.’” 

Henry paused, clearing knowing something wasn’t right. The kid was too smart for his own good. But he decided not to comment on it. No, Emma thought, he was just smart enough. They talked until Emma couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, and Emma tried to hang up but Henry insisted on keeping the line open and stayed awake until he could hear his mother snoring softly into her pillow. He knew something wasn’t right, and he knew that Emma would never tell him what it was because she thought she was protecting him, but she was his mom and that meant he’d do anything, even little things like answering the phone at three in the morning, if it meant that she’d smile a bit more in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay. If you liked this chapter, please review. Reviews really do give me the incentive to keep going.


	4. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma finally gives up, and Jefferson regrets a decision made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for the hiatus, I was having a really hard time deciding how to handle the last few chapters of this fic. It needed a lot of tweaking, plus the timelines for the last two episodes of season 1 are REALLY confusing as to what happens when… we seem to lose a few hours here and there so I’ve had to do my best to make sense of it all. This chapter takes place sometime before/between/during The Stranger and An Apple Red as Blood. Don’t worry, it’ll make more sense when you read it. Also: I've decided to bump up the warning from M to E, since this does get a shade darker in the next two chapters.

Chapter 4: Dead Man Walking

Emma had not woken up feeling any better than she had the night before. Her heart still felt heavy and her head ached with the stress of it all, not to mention the amount of whiskey she’d consumed. Mary Margaret stared at her sadly when Emma emerged from her bedroom for breakfast. They ate in silence and Emma was thankful for it. She did not feel like talking in the least. After breakfast, Emma made her way over to the Sheriff’s station and called the Driscolls to see if they were available to make a statement that morning. Then she drove over to the town’s small B&B where the family was lodged for the night. 

Dr. Hopper met her outside the attached diner. 

“Good morning, Sheriff Swan.” The psychiatrist said sadly.

“Hey, Archie.” Emma replied. “Were they ok last night when you called?” 

The psychiatrist frowned. “As well as they could have been, I suppose. A bit shaken up though, understandably.”

“Think they’ll be ok to make a statement?” 

Archie shrugged. “I can’t rightly say.”

Emma sighed. “Only one way to find out, then.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That was how Emma found herself sitting in one of Granny’s hotel rooms, holding a cup of coffee and listening as Sarah Driscoll retold her version of the previous night’s events as a deputy avidly scribbled down notes on his notepad.

It was a painful experience for everyone in the room, as it exemplified the utter failure of those involved to help stabilize Jefferson’s psychosis. Emma also found it hard to believe that Jefferson had done all the things Sarah was saying he had. Not because she thought Sarah was lying, but rather that Emma found it painful to do so. Somewhere along the way Emma had gotten far too close to Jefferson and now everyone in the room was paying the price for her negligence. This family was hurting because of her; Emma could hardly bear the thought, not to mention that Paige would likely be lost to Jefferson forever now. Glancing round the room Emma could see the various reactions people were having; Archie’s face was a mask of kind concern and understanding, but Emma could tell by the white knuckled clench of his fist around Pongo’s lead that he was burying some negative emotions of his own. Paige was over in the corner giving Pongo belly-rubs, but the girl was visibly melancholic, and her father was bordering on murderous. But Emma felt numb.

Why had Jefferson done this? She pondered. He had thrown away everything they’d worked for, for what? Then there was that cold warning that Jefferson had given her concerning Gold. As if Gold didn’t creep her out enough already, now she had a cryptic warning from a mad-man claiming that Gold may actually want her dead. And something about that had made a relatively stable Jefferson snap, and he had gone from an attentive lover and father to a homicidal lunatic over the span of only a few hours. It really didn’t add up.

After all the formalities had been observed; statements taken, Archie had offered the Driscolls post-traumatic event counselling, Emma stood outside the diner sipping a hot chocolate with Archie.

“Terrible thing.” Said Archie with a heavy sigh. 

Emma grunted in response, still lost in the thoughts that had occupied her mind over the past hour. 

“Something wrong, Emma?” Archie asked, and Emma shook herself back to the present.

“It’s something that Jefferson said to me…” Emma began. 

“Go on?” Archie encouraged her.

“He said that Mr. Gold wanted me dead, to break the curse.”

“Well it’s obviously just more of his delusions.” 

Emma shook her head. “I think it might be more than that though. Something must have happened yesterday that triggered Jefferson’s relapse… and I’d be willing to bet that it does have something to do with Gold.” 

“What do you plan to do?” Archie asked.

“I’m gonna go and talk to him; Mr. Gold. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.”

“Ok, but promise me you’ll be careful, Emma. If he did have something to do with this, Mr. Gold is a powerful man, he’s not someone to be trifled with.”

“I’m not planning on doing any ‘trifling’ I’m just gonna ask him some questions.”

“All the same, be careful.”

Emma gave Archie a closed smile. “Thank you, Archie, for everything you’ve done.”

Archie returned her smile, albeit a little sadly, “It was my pleasure. Take care.”

Then they parted ways.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The little bell over the door to Mr. Gold’s pawn shop tinkled wildly as Emma barged into the half-lit space.

“We need to talk.” She said, and Gold looked up from whatever book he had been studying in surprise.

“Whatever about, Sheriff Swan?” He replied.

“Jefferson said you wanted me dead.” Emma said and she watched his face for any flicker of emotion that might hint towards his guilt. Mr. Gold only looked surprised for a moment.

“Why would I want you dead when you are still owing me a favor?” He asked.

“You tell me.” She challenged.

“Sheriff Swan, I promise you I had nothing to do with Jefferson’s little incident at the Driscoll’s last night.” 

“Doesn’t matter if you did, that’s not was I asked you about. But how do you know about that?”

“Gossip travels fast in this town. Has it occurred to you, that the source of this slander is criminally insane?”

“Criminally insane? Weren’t you the one who represented him in his acquittal?”

“Well maybe I should tell the judge that I was bribed into representing him to cover up your little love affair…”

“So you did speak to Jefferson yesterday?”

“Excuse me dearie, does this look like the Sheriff’s department? Have I been arrested? I don’t have to answer you. And hearsay will not hold up in a court of law, it won’t even get you a warrant.”

Emma sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

“This has nothing to do with the courts, Gold.” She said. “I just want to understand what happened to him, and he was spouting all sorts of nonsense about curses, evil queens, Rumplestiltskin-s and you wanting me dead…”

“And out of all that, myself wanting you dead was the thing you chose to believe?” he asked incredulously.

Emma shrugged. “I just want to get to the truth…”

Mr. Gold stared at her for a moment, and sighed. 

“I think I can help you Miss Swan, if I may speak off the record.”

Emma looked up at him in surprise, but nodded. 

“The truth is, I did speak with Mr. Lake yesterday morning. It was not… a congenial conversation either. In fact, one could probably call it a row. I may have said some things out of frustration which Jefferson, in his particular state of mind, may have misconstrued.”

Emma blinked at Mr. Gold’s display of sincerity. He was one of the better liars in the town, so she was forced to take him at his word. 

“I promise you,” he continued. “Though we may have our differences, I have no desire to see you dead.”

If Emma was honest with herself, this was where she began to doubt the words coming out of Gold’s teeth. If anyone wanted her dead for no reason in the town, it was Mr. Gold. Why would she have come up in a conversation between Jefferson and Gold at all? Why would they have fought about her? Why would Jefferson have told Mr. Gold about their relationship in the first place? He knew better than that. But Emma didn’t have much of a choice in the situation. Jefferson was clinically insane. Mr. Gold was… well, it didn’t matter what Emma thought of Gold. Nothing short of proof as undeniable as, the sun is out therefore: it must be day, would hold up in a court against Mr. Gold in Storybrooke. Then again, with Mr. Gold as the defendant, Emma had a feeling he could convince a jury that it was the dead of night even if the sun were shining through the window. Sometimes Emma did entertain the notion of Henry’s storybook alternate personality theories if only to help explain the Wonderland-esque logic that governed the small town.

“Now then, I am a busy man Miss Swan, have you anything more to accuse me of or can I get back to work?” 

Emma ignored the barb meant to bait her temper. “We’re done.” She said, and she turned to go, but as she lay her hand on the door to fully exit the shop Mr. Gold’s voice stopped her. 

“Be careful though, dearie. If a man as desperate as Jefferson wants you dead, I should think you’d be wise to lock your doors at night.”

Emma felt a chill go down her spine, but ignored both him and it as she made her way down the street to where she’d parked her Bug. But the sun didn’t feel quite as warm as it had not half an hour before. It was then she decided to leave Storybrooke for good, and she was taking Henry with her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following day after Henry convinced Emma to stay in Storybrooke, and after much anger and chastisement from Mary Margaret Emma was still intent on leaving. But after her lunch with Archie she agreed on doing so in a more legal manner. Meanwhile in the Mayor’s mansion, Jefferson had met with Regina and assisted her in the retrieval of the poisoned apple that had once put Snow White in a coma. 

Jefferson had not realized exactly what thing Regina was going to ask him to bring through the portal in order to drive Emma away from Storybrooke… all he knew was that her leaving and him having his memories rewritten both suited him just fine. No killing required, Grace would once more be his, and Rumplestiltskin could get stuffed. However, the moment he saw the apple some part of him, the tiny fragment of his mind that was still sane enough to care for Emma, or else the part that could see where this story was headed (nowhere good) protested his involvement in this plot. 

In his heart of hearts, Jefferson was a good man. His desire to be reunited with his daughter had led him to this moment, but in his madness he was forgetting the new bonds he had been forging; new friends, new family. People who had come into his life and been a positive experience. Archie, the Driscolls, Mary Margaret… not to mention Emma. And now he was siding with Regina? He was siding with the woman who’d done this to him in the first place? This realization had startled him enough to make it easier for him to think clearly, and that’s what he did; all the way home, and then some. 

In the end, he concluded that he had made a terrible mistake. But it was too late, it was far too late and now he’d have to live with the consequences. By now Regina would have baited Emma with the Trojan horse in the form of her apple and Emma, being the stubborn, blind girl that she was, would take it hook, line, and sinker, no questions asked… well, not the right questions asked anyway. 

Jefferson wanted to forget even more now. He’d just betrayed his friend, his lover, to her worst enemy... He could feel the magic clearly for the first time, the promise he’d made to August was severely painful, and Jefferson knew that if Emma died now because of his actions, he would have to pay the price. 

The only thing worse than the knowing was the waiting. It was the waiting that drove him mad. Well, madder. It felt as if there was an axe hovering above his head waiting to drop and whether or not it fell depended on something he could not see, nor had any control over. 

Jefferson sat alone in his darkened house and wept. 

What had he done?

If Emma survived she would never forgive him when she found out… and she would find out. How would he ever look Grace in the eye again, knowing that he’d been the one who dashed the hope of her ever remembering her true self? How could he face Henry or Snow if Emma died?

“I’ll forget. I’ll forget. I’ll forget. When Regina changes the curse, I’ll forget.” He repeated to himself like a prayer. 

‘But you won’t. Not really.’ The darker part of himself whispered back. ‘The magic will make you pay every penny that you owe for what you’ve done. For breaking your promise.’

His thoughts spiraled like this incessantly for hours, and eventually it grew dark outside. After what felt like an eternity, Jefferson suddenly felt drawn to one of his telescopes, specifically to the one pointed out at the apartment Emma shared with her mother-friend. He resisted the draw of his sixth sense at first, suspecting that this was the magic’s way of telling him ‘this is it, the time of reckoning’ and some sinister force was compelling him to watch. He didn’t want to watch, for all his madness, for all his self-loathing, Jefferson had never been a masochist. He just wanted it to be over… He wanted all of it to be over; the whole damn world could curl up on itself and disappear taking him with it. 

Jefferson stood stiffly and walked slowly to his basement where he found a solid length of rope that he had measured out years before. He was resolved now to do what he should have done ages ago, and put an end to all the pain. 

The impulse to peer through his spy glass one last time overtook him again however as he began tying a knot and for some reason Jefferson couldn’t find it in himself to resist, so he re-ascended the stairs up into the main part of the house. As he passed through the darkened rooms he could almost see the ghosts of his memories of the time he’d spent with Emma here. Happy times, he realized, though he hadn’t known in the moment. They were all gone now… or would be, shortly. Finally coming to his study, Jefferson stooped slightly to put his eye up to the eyepiece of the spy glass. It took him a few moments to adjust the lenses and make sense of the scene he was viewing but he did so just in time to watch as Henry took a bite of the pastry made from the poisoned fruit. 

Jefferson had never run so fast in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa drama. Judging from my outline there will probably be only one more chapter, plus an epilogue left in this story. We’re coming down the home stretch now! Also: the title of this chapter was taken from the Civil War’s song “Barton Hollow.” Give it a listen, its good music.
> 
> And just a warning to readers, the next chapter is going to get quite dark, darker than this story has been so far. I hinted at it a bit in the last part of this chapter with Jefferson finding a rope in his basement, so please be warned if you’re not comfortable with that type of thing.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for sticking with the story even though I’m really unreliable with the updates! I really appreciate it.


	5. The Reaper's Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was an incredibly difficult chapter for me to write, people have mentioned that this story is much darker than its two predecessors and there is a very good reason for this. I seem to encounter depression a lot in my life, it runs in my family, and I have a large number of friends who have battled with it to varying degrees. I’m lucky in that I’ve never found myself in a suicidal mindset despite my fair share of life’s bad times, but very recently I came horrifyingly close to losing someone very important to me to this illness. Learning how to cope with my friend’s depression was tough, he kept me in the dark for most of it, and there was a lot of negative energy that built up between us as he pushed me away. Writing this chapter has been both a dark reminder of that time, as well as the other close encounters I’ve had with depression and suicide. But it has also been a sort of catharsis for me, where I can explore this type of mindset in a safe place. So, this chapter is dedicated to my friend, who will (hopefully) never read this, but hopefully the universe will send him all my positive thoughts. (Thankfully he has people with him who care and have taken care of him long enough to convince him to take care of himself, he has gotten real help, and recently I’ve been seeing dramatic improvement.)
> 
> It is a tough subject for me, but for my telling of this story I felt this needed to happen. I tried to handle this delicately, if I failed and seriously upset anyone, I apologize.
> 
> This chapter’s title is based off of my (vague) knowledge of Tarot cards. Everyone assumes that the “death” card means exactly that, a death. Typically this should be interpreted in more of a metaphorical sense, death meaning something closer to a transformation, or a transition. The end of one thing, sure, but the beginning of something new. Rebirth. Metamorphosis. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR DARK THEMES AND SUICIDE ATTEMPT.

The Reaper’s Card

In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Emma. He wanted to. He knew all too well the pain of worrying for one’s child. But if he spoke to Emma he’d have to admit to what he’d done… and Jefferson had never been a brave man... Emma’s wrath was not something he had the heart, nor the clarity of mind, to face at the moment.

Regina was another demon entirely.

The desire to forget was stronger now than ever, he had to make sure that Regina would hold up her end of the bargain. It wasn’t his fault that Regina had miscalculated. He had retrieved her the apple, he had sold his soul in doing so, but that was all that had been required of him… Now it was time for his reward, he couldn’t bear another second of the hell of knowing what he’d done.

But he should have known that Regina would lie to him… He really should have known that she would cheat him, and now that the plans had backfired? Really, had he expected anything less? Vindication was patented under Regina’s name. What’s more, he had felt compassion for her! Henry was Regina’s child just as much as he was Emma’s. And the pain of losing one’s child was not a curse he would wish on anyone… not even his greatest enemy, though that is exactly what had happened. But he played a role in Henry’s fate… and it was Henry, innocent, clever Henry, who would pay the price for all their mistakes. His fate and the fate of them all now rested on the shoulders of Emma Swan, and on her conversion to faith in the power of magic.

‘We’re all doomed.’ The little voice in his head whispered. ‘And it’s all my fault.’

So Jefferson did the only thing he could think to do, make sure that Regina didn’t get away with how she had wronged them all…

He had seen Regina visit Belle many times. He had grown curious about the person Regina visited in the mental ward at Storybrooke General, and after Emma came to town he had the opportunity to investigate. A pair of hospital scrubs and a well-placed lie had earned him the security code to the basement ward, and the gift of a well-made cup of tea had won over the creepy woman who was the nurse in charge of the ward.

She never even suspected a thing the next time he came bearing a cup of tea.

Jefferson hated the asylum, what compassion he had left in his body went out to his fellow ones-with-the-broken-minds. Though for some of them he couldn’t say he was unhappy they were unable to walk freely among the populace… There had been some truly twisted minds in the old world, just as there were in this new one.

He’d never met Belle before the curse. He’d left Rumpelstiltskin’s services long before she’d come into them. But he’d heard the stories, that the Dark One had kidnapped a beautiful princess and was having his wicked way with her locked in his castle, much to her kingdoms’ shame. Jefferson knew Rumpelstiltskin better than that, and he knew that forcing someone into something simply was not Rumpel’s M.O. Rumpelstiltskin was far too clever for that, and the dark magician delighted in giving people _exactly_ what they asked him for. If there was a girl staying in the Dark Castle, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Then came the stories that the Dark One had fallen in love with a princess from a faraway kingdom, and miraculously she had fallen in love with him too. But rather than allow them to be happy together, her father had killed her to keep his kingdom from falling into the Dark One’s hands. This story, Jefferson could believe. 

But Belle was alive, and Belle was free now. Belle would go to Rumpel and Rumpel would want revenge on Regina for keeping his lady-love hostage and wretched. There was no one better to put the fear of god into Regina and to serve her her just desserts than the Dark One. Plus Rumpelstiltskin would now be owing Jefferson a favor, those always came in handy…

With his business concluded in town, Jefferson started the long trudge back up the hill through the woods to his house. He still wore the hospital scrubs and people on the street shied away from him. The weather was still cold but he walked around in only a thin shirt and trousers. There was also the darkness behind his eyes, and the glaring red line of his scar ringed all the way around his neck. People hastily moved out of his way but that suited Jefferson just fine… he didn’t care for any of them anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma’s day had gone from weird to worse.

First, there had been Henry and the turnover, and now… fairy-tale characters, evil queens, curses, freakin’ Rumplestiltskin and dragons!?

Emma’s world had flipped on its head in the span of an hour, and now she found herself plummeting down the rabbit hole with nothing to break her fall but her suddenly less-impressive instincts.

Emma took a moment to close her eyes and catalogue in her brain exactly the information she was being expected to process. Regina _was_ the Evil Queen. Mr. Gold _was_ Rumpelstiltskin. Henry _had_ been poisoned by a magic apple. Which also meant that… Mary Margaret was Snow White, _and_ her mother. David was Prince Charming, _and_ her father… And Jefferson… oh god, _Jefferson_ … Jefferson was _right_. Henry and August, even Graham from so long ago, they were, all of them, _right_ ; and now all four of them were paying the price for her stubborn blindness.

Emma had a lot of apologies to make when this was over… but first she had to save Henry.

Which was how she found herself battling a dragon, only to have her prize stolen away by Rumplestiltskin… only to have her only hope of saving her son stolen away.

Then Henry died.

It was like a piece of her soul had been ripped out of her body. Like she’d never be able to breathe without this crushing weight in her chest again. Henry’s light was gone from the world. That infallible little flickering candle in the darkness that was Henry’s belief in her, and in happy endings; and it damn near killed her that that could be gone. But it was gone, and it wasn’t fair.

Emma was supposed to be the one to break the curse and bring back the happy endings. Hadn’t that been what Henry kept on telling her? How was _this_ a happy ending? She felt like she was drowning, and she wished more than anything that she was the one who’d eaten the turnover and not him.

He looked so goddamn _small_ lying there in that hospital bed, with all the tubes coming out of him, and the machines all turned off.

Emma did the one thing she could think to do: say goodbye to her son.

She bent over him, whispered that she loved him, and kissed his forehead one last time.

And Henry breathed.

And the curse broke.

And Emma cried with relief.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time Jefferson made it home it was mid-afternoon. And he had reached the end of his tether, or more accurately, it felt like his tether had snapped under his weight completely and he was currently free falling into nothingness.

He’d betrayed Emma, not once, but twice. First by losing his head and attacking Grace’s family, and second, by helping Regina with the objective of getting rid of Emma.

He’d betrayed Grace, perhaps even more deeply than before. At least before he had the hope of one day seeing her again, if he escaped from Wonderland. He then had the hope of being a part of her life by sharing her with her curse-parents… but now, after all he’d done, no legal court in this world would ever give him permission to see his little girl again… that was _if_ he ever got out of jail for his crimes.

Emma would never forgive him, Regina would never allow him to forget, and Grace was lost to him forever.

He entered his home and wandered aimlessly through the rooms. He wasn’t caged here anymore, but he had no doubt that he would soon be locked within another… one of his own making, whether it be in a jail cell or in the psychiatric ward at Storybrooke General Hospital, or even to remain in his own house he’d be once more caged by his memories.

He went into the room where Grace’s things had been kept for these twenty-eight years. Clutching that fateful white rabbit to his chest, he lay on the bed with tears burning stinging tracks down his cheeks. The guilt was eating him alive and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand much more of it. The guilt and the pain really were too much to bear.

Here in his house, he was surrounded by his useless hats, his telescopes, and all the things that reminded him of his abject failure in every way. He had failed to alert the savior to her true purpose. He had failed to reunite with Grace. He had failed his wife, to whom he’d promised to keep their daughter safe. He had failed August, who, on this death-bed entrusted Jefferson with the task of protecting Emma… He’d even failed Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, both of whom had wanted Emma dead. All this effort he’d put into every endeavor in his life… and here he stood empty-handed. He had nothing but a fractured mind, and room upon room of hats that didn’t work… He had used up chance after chance, explored every avenue that presented itself, and he had not a single thing to show for it, nor a single friend to stand by him in this dark hour.

Jefferson stood from the bed that had been meant for his daughter and he moved to the living room where he took a long swig from the bottle of Jameson he had bought specifically for Emma. He slumped down onto the couch and downed as much of the bottle as he could in one go before the alcohol scalded his throat and he was forced to stop or choke. He hoped the alcohol would bring him the mind-numbing oblivion that it was famed for.

This was it, the death of his hope. He had finally reached the point where he had not a single hope in the world, nor anything left to fight for… and the truth of it was it was no one else’s fault, but his own.

Jefferson realized he had nothing left to live for… and he felt relieved.

No one would mourn his passing, he knew, no one would even notice if he were gone. And suddenly it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he felt the full extent of his exhaustion with the effort of existing… of fighting against insanity. He was done, he didn’t want to fight it anymore, and now he didn’t need to.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, the partially tied noose which he had abandoned in his haste to get to Henry and Emma earlier…

The thought of the two of them sent a fresh wave of guilt tying knots in his stomach. He took a third draft from the bottle.

He stood and the whiskey sent a wave of dizziness through his head, and Jefferson remembered absently that he hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. In this haze of alcohol mixed with grief he resolved to do what he’d set out to do earlier, the rope sitting on his carpet was a sign. End the madness, it told him. End the never-ending spiral of self-destruction and pain… escape the fate that had been handed to him, he wasn’t strong enough to bear it.

It was hope that had always kept him from doing this in the past… the hope that came with the promise of a savior, and that any curse can be broken. But that burdensome hope was gone now. He was free to end it all without the guilt, without the nagging “what if?”

He moved to the basement. He assembled the necessary tools in the necessary order; rope tied off sturdily at one end, chair to step from, himself… His decision was made, and with one last deep breath and Grace’s name on his lips, the plunge was taken. But his eyes were closed, so he didn’t notice the ripple of magic that cut through the air with the breaking of the curse. It wasn’t the same for him, as it was for everyone else, the horrific, wonderful moment of truth, of _remembering_. More horrific for some, than others, remembering what they’d done in another life… who they’d been. For most they just stopped, mid-stride, mid-sentence, mid-whatever, and stared at nothing in particular.

It was a funny little trick really, and it made everyone who experienced it feel very small. The fact that all the memories, that all the things that were so inherently _them_ could be distilled down into one tiny moment, one ripple, of remembrance. All the horror, all the tragedy, all the joy; gone, hidden and then returned to them like it was nothing at all…

But for Jefferson there was nothing more to remember. He already remembered, he never forgot in the first place. So when for everyone else the ripple in the air meant an existential crisis, Jefferson was far too absorbed in the emotional maelstrom he was caught up in to notice something that barely even tickled in comparison to the mental anguish of his thoughts.

What he _did_ notice was that his rope split clean in two, and that he suddenly found himself hitting the concrete floor of his basement sprawled on his back and gasping for air. After another moment his shoulder started to scream with pain and the little voice in the back of his mind helpfully suggested that it’s been dislocated.

“No, no, _no_!” He wheezed as his breath returned, and he recovered from the shock.

He inspected the frayed end of the rope angrily and found it broken… He frowned to himself, if he didn’t know better he’d say that the rope had been cut… by _magic_ …

Jefferson bolted up the stairs and over to one of his telescopes. He frantically peered down at the town, where he could see people hugging each other gleefully, some were sitting alone on the curb with stunned expressions on their faces, other still were sobbing.

Jefferson felt a burst of giddy laughter bubble up from his stomach.

She had done it! Emma had broken the curse! Emma had… oh god… Oh _god_ , please _no_. _Anything_ but _that_.

Jefferson’s face blanched as he realized that the curse’s breaking, probably meant that Emma was dead…

And for the second time that day, Jefferson found himself running helter-skelter towards Storybrooke General Hospital.


	6. Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

 

Transformation is never bloodless.

Change should never happen quickly. But sometimes it must be forced, and in these cases the transition is all the more violent.

It took Jefferson many years to realize that this is what had happened during the bloody days of the curse’s breaking; a change, his rebirth.

And even when he did finally start to catch on, it still took an awful lot of pointing out…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jefferson arrived at the hospital just as Dr. Whale was returning from leading a failed lynch-mob to string up the queen.

Jefferson had been overtaken by a dense cloud of purple smoke on the road, but he had charged through it, desperate to reach the hospital to find out what had happened to Emma. His scar tingled wildly in the presence of the magic, but it felt cool, and balm-like, soothing the irritating itch that had been the magic binding him to his promise to August. Jefferson ignored the implications and kept on running. 

“Victor!” Jefferson called out when he finally arrived in the hospital parking-lot, and the doctor turned at the sound of his name.

Victor’s face broke out into an astonished smile, as he recognized Jefferson as a long-lost friend.

“Jefferson!” he called back, and rushed forward to grab Jefferson in a hug; relieved to find at least _one_ familiar face from the old world amongst the cursed masses.

Then he stepped back and the doctor’s face changed to one of horror.

“Oh god,” Victor said, staring.

Jefferson frowned at him, confused.

“You _remembered_ … All this time you knew the truth, and we all thought you were insane… My friend, I am _so_ sorry…”

Jefferson sighed and looked away uncomfortably.

“It’s not your fault, Victor.” He said. “You were cursed, you didn’t know…”

Jefferson took a deep breath. “Besides, it’s not like I’m entirely _sane_ either.”

Victor was frowning again, and he sniffed the air.

“Uh… Jefferson, is there something you’d like to tell me?” Victor shuffled towards him with one hand out-stretched as if he were approaching a skittish animal.

Jefferson frowned at him, and Victor nodded, looking pointedly down at Jefferson’s chest. Jefferson followed Victor’s gaze and looked down at himself…

Oh…

Damn…

He was still wearing hospital scrubs from when he’d freed Belle, but more alarmingly, the noose still hung limply around his neck like a morbid piece of jewelry.

“Victor… I can explain…” Jefferson said. “I know how this looks, but I promise you, you don’t have to watch me, I’m _fine_.”

If he was fine, then why was the world spinning?

“Jefferson, have you been drinking at all today?” Victor asked, suddenly very clearly in medical-professional-mode.

“I don’t – no.” It was suddenly hard to breathe, and his stomach was very close to unloading itself onto Victor’s shoes.

“Need to find –“ Jefferson fell to his knees and Victor caught him from falling forward onto his face.

“I need to… Grace…?”

Everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jefferson woke to the robotic beeping of a heart monitor, and bright florescent lights that hurt his eyes. His head felt as if an elephant had done a jig on his skull, and his shoulder was throbbing with a blunt sort of pain, as if he had pulled a muscle rather badly. Jefferson groaned and tried to lift his head to get his bearings.

“Ah-ah-ah!” A voice that was far too loud for his comfort broke through his thoughts, and a small-but-firm hand pushed him back down onto the bed. It took Jefferson a few moments for his eyes to focus on the small woman addressing him. “Glad to see you’re awake Mr. Lake, but Dr. Whale said you’re not to rise from this bed without his say-so. Looks like you had a nasty fall and sustained a concussion as well as that dislocated shoulder, and I’d wager you have one hell of a hangover, your BAC was through the roof. I’ll be right back with some water and painkillers.”

Why the hell was he in the hospital?

Jefferson tried to sit up and found that he had been handcuffed to the bed frame.

Correction: why the hell was he _in handcuffs_ in the hospital?

Dr. Whale walked into the room followed by the nurse who’d promised him medicine.

“What is this, Victor?” Jefferson asked pulling against his restraints before Whale could open his mouth.

Victor shrugged. “Might have something to do with the fact that you’re a wanted suspect in a hostage situation. Or it might be that you showed up in the parking lot today three-sheets-to-the-wind and with a noose around your neck… So, I think _you’re_ going to be the one to tell me what’s going on, and then we’ll see about the handcuffs.”

Jefferson’s head fell back onto the pillows and he huffed in frustration.

“I haven’t got time for this, Victor.”

Victor cocked an eyebrow at him. “You got somewhere to be?”

“YES!” Jefferson began to struggle violently against the handcuffs. “I need to find Emma! She should be here! Where is she!?”

It took Jefferson a few moments to hear Victor yelling at him over the screaming in his head.

“She’s fine, Jefferson! But clearly, you’re not! Don’t make me sedate you, I want to hear this from you!”

Jefferson calmed considerably when it finally sank in. Emma was fine. Emma was _alive_. 

“Victor, please, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just answer me this… what happened? How is Henry? Is he alive? What happened to Emma?”

Victor stood back and eyed Jefferson warily, whose violent mood swings had put him on guard. The curse’s breaking had clearly not cured the Hatter’s true madness.

“The boy died…” Jefferson’s face fell, so Victor was quick to add: “But Emma broke the sleeping curse with true-love’s kiss, I suppose. It broke Regina’s curse at the same time. Last I saw of Emma she stopped me from stringing Regina up for her crimes. I was just on my way back from the Mayor’s house when I ran into you. That was a few hours ago now. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Jefferson let his head fall back onto the pillows, suddenly exhausted. “No, Victor, that’s all.” He closed his eyes and thanked every deity he could think of for this news. Impossibly, both of them had survived. He could have never dreamed that this would be the outcome, and suddenly he was aware of tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Jefferson, what’s going on?” Victor asked, as kindly as he could. “I’m your friend. I just want to help you if you’ll let me.”

Jefferson sighed, and stared at the ceiling as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think I’m well, Victor. My mind it – it’s been broken since I was trapped in Wonderland. My real delusion has been in thinking that I had it under control…”

Victor frowned at him. “You’ve been talking to Dr. Hopper haven’t you? Has that not been helping?”

Jefferson shrugged. “It’s possible it was, but I had a rather serious relapse the last few days. Thus the warrant out in my name… But it’s worse than that Victor. _I_ was the one who helped Regina to retrieve the apple from our land. She had just enough magic for me to pull it through. It’s – it’s my fault that Henry almost died. I betrayed Emma, we had been – sleeping together I guess, is the way to describe it. And now she’ll never forgive me.”

“And the… interesting choice of neckwear?” Whale motioned towards Jefferson’s neck where the noose had been.

Jefferson lowered his eyes in shame. “I didn’t see any other way out, and the guilt was just too much.” He admitted. “I’m weak, Victor. I always have been, and Regina knows it. That’s why she’s always been able to play me like a fiddle.”

Victor sat back in his chair, obviously a little overwhelmed by all the new information he’d received.

“I don’t think you’re weak, Jefferson. I think you were dealt a hand that anyone would have found equally as painful and depressing. What you’ve done in the last few days is definitely worrying behavior, and I’d like to see you properly treated for it, this world has some promising medications that you could try. But for everything before, I don’t think anyone would blame you for trying to get a better life. Regina exploiting your love for your daughter is no one’s fault but her own.” He said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know how to help you sooner, Jefferson. But I can now, we can make this right. Maybe not the stuff with the Sheriff but if we help you sort out your head, maybe you can find a way to earn her forgiveness.”

Jefferson shook his head in despair. “You don’t know her like I do, Victor. She doesn’t give second chances.”

“Jefferson, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my acquaintance with you and Rumpelstiltskin, it’s that; where magic is involved, anything is possible. If you really want to make things right, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Jefferson nodded, acknowledging Victor’s words if not taking them to heart.

“So what now? I don’t suppose you’re gonna let me out of here tonight are you?” Jefferson asked.

“Well… no.” Whale admitted. “You’re under supervision until tomorrow morning, given the apparent suicide attempt. But seeing as you seem to be fairly stable right now I’ll release you in the morning on the condition that you come back the next day to begin therapy or treatment or whatever Dr. Hopper and I decide is best for you.”

Jefferson frowned, he wanted to go and check on Emma now, but he knew Victor to be uncompromising when it came to his rules being broken.

“Alright, tomorrow morning then.”

“I’m serious Jefferson.” Whale continued. “If you try to weasel your way out of this I will have no choice but to lock you in the psych ward until further notice. Please, don’t make me do that.”

Jefferson met his friend’s eyes as bravely as he could.

“I understand.” He said. “I’ll be here when you tell me to be, or face the consequences.”

Victor nodded. “Good, now try and get some sleep. I promise, this is the start of a new chapter for you Jefferson. Everything will work out in the end, you’ll see.”

Jefferson lay back against the pillows once more and shut his eyes. “I’m not so sure about that.” He said to no one in particular.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning Jefferson was released from the hospital with the understanding that he was to report back the next day or else there’d be hell to pay. Allowing him to leave at all was a personal kindness from Victor to Jefferson, as one old friend to another. As Jefferson’s friend, Victor understood that Jefferson would never rest easy until he had worked out whatever anxiety had grasped him. Jefferson knew he’d follow through on their agreement to meet the next day on account of the fact that he knew Dr. Whale would not give up a patient, particularly one so obviously in need of help. But for now he was free, and he had somewhere he needed to be…

Jefferson’s hand hovered for a few seconds over the green door with the gold lettering, _Emma’s_ door. Part of him was frantically questioning his sanity. He shouldn’t be here. Emma would never want to see him again, much less listen to him. What was he even going to say? What could he possibly say to make things better?

_He’d poisoned her son_.

But just as he began to feel his confidence shatter under the weight of this thought, and his bravery run for the hills, the door seemed to make the decision for him by swinging inward and revealing a very startled Prince Charming, and a very-much alive Henry.

“Oh, hi. Can I help you?” ~~Charming~~ ~~James~~ _David_ asked, and Henry peered around David’s back to get a better look at this new face.

“Um… well…” Jefferson said, dropping his hand, which had still been hovering to knock. “Actually, I was looking for Emma? My name’s Jefferson…”

He said the last bit a little hesitantly, unsure of exactly how much Emma or Mary Margaret had divulged to David and/or Henry about his connection to the Prince’s daughter. But he couldn’t have expected the reaction he did receive.

“Holy cow!” Henry exclaimed, excitedly. “That didn’t take long at _all_!”

“I’m sorry?” Jefferson said, quite puzzled.

“What Henry means, is that this is an incredible coincidence. We were actually just on our way out the door to go look for _you_.”

Jefferson swallowed hard, and backed up a step defensively.

“Me?” He said. “Why?”

“We need you to help us fix your hat so we can rescue my mom and Mary Margaret.” Henry piped up, worming his way from behind his grandfather and into the hallway.

“Rescue her? She’s in trouble?” Jefferson glanced between Henry and David and watched as their faces lost the excitement of finding their query on their doorstep.

“Why don’t you come with us, I need to drop Henry off at school? But, you obviously know my daughter, and it’s a bit of a long story…” David said, stepping to the side and gesturing for Jefferson to enter.

One quick drive to the elementary school to drop off Henry, a cup of cocoa, and one long story later, involving a wraith and Emma _finally_ getting his hat to work; Jefferson sat with his head between his knees on the couch, hyperventilating into a paper bag and trying to explain to Prince Charming exactly _why_ he was in the middle of a panic attack over the Prince’s daughter. Which led to _another_ long story, involving kidnappings, trials, a censored version of his and Emma’s relationship, his subsequent betrayal all of which ended with David giving Jefferson a black eye for the sake of his family. But a few minutes later, with Jefferson holding a bag of frozen peas over his eye and when David had calmed down enough to have a rational discussion, a strange, uneasy sort of understanding was reached between them.

“So, you’re getting _help_?” David asked for the fifth time, and Jefferson fought back an eye roll.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Dr. Whale is perfectly aware of everything I just told you, and he released me today on the condition that I return tomorrow to begin treatment.”

David nodded, apparently appeased for the moment.

“You said you wanted to redeem yourself for what you’ve done?” The Prince asked after a moment.

Jefferson sat up straighter and looked the Prince dead in the eye. It was important that the other man knew how serious Jefferson was about this.

“Yes.” Jefferson stated adamantly. “Emma has been my only friend in a town of strangers who wanted me locked away without a key. I already owe her more than I can ever repay.”

“Well, I know a couple of ways that you can start.”

The Prince moved and placed a crumpled top hat on the table. Jefferson stared at it, aghast.

“What the hell did you do? _Sit_ on it!?”

The Prince had the decency to look sheepish. “Fell, actually… Can you get it to work?”

Jefferson scrubbed a hand over his mouth and winced at the three-day-growth of beard.

“I’m a portal jumper.” He said, frankly. “I can create a portal, but you’ve broken the conduit. That lies beyond my powers to fix… _Believe_ me, I’ve tried.” Jefferson shuddered and wrestled down the memory.

“Ok, so we’ll find somebody who _can_ fix it. If we do that, would you be able to find them?”

“With a working hat?” Jefferson shrugged. “Probably, if I can figure out which world they travelled to… but it’ll be a piece of cake compared to fixing the hat. There’s only two people in Storybrooke with enough power or talent to help us; one is the Queen, the other…” Jefferson trailed off and gave Charming a meaningful look.

“Rumpelstiltskin…” The Prince replied.

“Exactly.”

“Well, we better think of something to offer him then…”

“Fortunately for us, he already owes me a favor.”

At that, there was the sound of the front door opening and the men turned to see Henry, returning from school, enter the apartment, and Jefferson’s heart stopped as he saw who followed him.

“Hey, Henry, who’s your friend?” David asked.

But the little girl ignored the Prince and his grandson in favor of shouting “Papa!” and running into her father’s arms.

“ _Grace._ ” Jefferson gasped.

“I found you!” The girl said, and he felt his eyes start to burn with tears.

“You did, my clever girl.” He said, clutching her tighter to his chest.

“Henry, why don’t we give them a moment?” David said, and Jefferson thanked him silently with a glance as the Prince ushered his grandson out the door.

“Papa, why didn’t you come home? What happened?” Grace said once they were gone, and Jefferson nearly broke.

“I tried, sweetheart. Every single day, I tried. But the Queen lied to me, she tricked me and left me trapped somewhere very far away without a way home. But I tried. I didn’t forget you Grace, I swear to you, I _never_ forgot.”

Grace wrapped her arms around her father’s neck again and lay her head on his shoulder like she used to when she needed the comfort of her father’s presence.

“It’s ok, Papa.” She said. “I forgive you.”

And Jefferson did break at that, twenty-eight years of tears and frustration and hope and longing culminating in this one moment when Grace was finally here in his arms and she _remembered_. Grace felt his sobs more than heard them and it was making her cry too.

“Papa!” She admonished him. “We’re supposed to be _happy_!”

Jefferson laughed through his tears, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, Gracie.” He sighed. “I _am_ happy. So, _so_ happy. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you first, but I was afraid…”

Grace nodded, wisely. “That’s what Henry thought. So he said that I should come to you.”

“Smart kid,” Jefferson laughed again, this time ruefully.

“But it’s alright now Papa, we can go back to how it was before.”

Jefferson felt his heart drop like a stone. They couldn’t, not really, not yet anyway.

“Grace, I’m sorry, we can’t.” Jefferson wished he could take back those words as a look of panic crossed his daughter’s face. He was quiet for a moment while he searched for the words to make her understand.

“Why not!?” she sobbed.

“I… I’m sick, baby… and I need some time to get better before we can be together again, like before.”

“Oh… but I thought that the curse was broken?” She asked.

“It’s not the curse that made me sick, sweetheart… It was Wonderland, the place I was trapped in. But I promise you, I’ll get better, but until then you have to stay with your… other mom and dad.”

As much as it pained him to say it, he knew that it was the truth the moment the words left his mouth. Grace, however, did not look appeased.

“Can’t I see you though? I missed you so much, even when I didn’t know I missed you, I still did.”

Jefferson sighed. “We’ll talk to Sarah and Patrick, ok? I’ve done some really bad things recently… and I need to make those things better too.”

Grace sighed, obviously unhappy about the circumstances but understanding that there was nothing to be done about them.

“Can I just stay here for a bit then?” She asked, cuddling up to her father once more.

“Yeah, course baby. I’ll take you home later…”

A few moments passed before it occurred to Jefferson to ask. “Your parents don’t know you’re here do they?”

“No.” Grace replied, matter-of-factly.

Jefferson sighed, mentally adding a tally next to ‘kidnapping’ in the list of potential felonies he’d be charged with.

“Well,” he said, “We’ll have Charming call them when they get back.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jefferson was dosing on the couch with Grace still clutched to his chest when Charming and Henry returned with groceries for dinner. They did call Grace’s frantic parents who insisted on picking her up immediately, and from whom Jefferson hid in the corner when they arrived to collect her.

Grace was tearful as she left and only became more so when they scolded her about running off without telling them. They left with an angry glare at both Jefferson and the Prince, but the whole scenario seemed to endear Jefferson to the Prince a bit more.

“You’ve got a lot to atone for now, don’t you?”

Jefferson stared adamantly at his shoes.

“Yeah.”

“You like tacos?” The Prince asked brightly, and Jefferson’s head shot up. “Henry wanted them for dinner, and we bought way too much for just the two of us. Besides, it looks like you could use a friend just now…”

“I’ve never had them.” Jefferson admitted.

“Stay for dinner then, and you will.”

“…Ok.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later Jefferson and Henry sat on the couch watching some inane TV show while Charming snored away on Snow’s favorite arm chair.

“So… how was reuniting with Grace?” the boy asked suddenly.

Jefferson stared at the boy, surprised by his directness.

“It was… good, I think.” Jefferson replied as truthfully as possible. “How… how did you know to bring her?”

“She came into school with posters today.” Henry pulled out one of said posters from his pocket and handed Jefferson the folded paper. “She was asking everyone if anybody had seen you around.”

Jefferson stared down at the hand drawing of himself with a half-smile.

“When she asked me, I couldn’t just _lie_. So I brought her home with me… I know what it’s like to be looking for your parents. I read your story in the book, so I knew she’d forgive you if you just got the change to tell her why you couldn’t go back for her.” He was quiet for a moment, then he asked, cautiously. “Did I do the right thing?”

Jefferson laughed. “Yeah, kid. You did exactly the right thing.”

“Good, cause for a minute I wasn’t sure. I’m just a kid after all and I know I don’t understand grown up things all the time, but it just felt like the right thing to do…”

“Hey, “ Jefferson said. “Henry, never second guess what your heart tells you… Grown-ups, we may have more experience with some things but sometimes it just makes us cowards, and we do the wrong thing because it’s easier. What you did today? Only proves that you are wise beyond your years. Your mom would be so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Henry asked with a shy smile, and Jefferson returned it with a stronger one.

“Absolutely.”

They fell silent for a little while longer before Jefferson felt compelled to speak again.

“Henry?” he asked. “I need to confess something.”

Henry turned to look up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion and interest.

“What is it?” he asked.

Jefferson paused to collect his thoughts.

“You know that the turnover was meant for your mom right?”

Henry instantly sounded wary. “Yeah…”

Jefferson hesitated. “I was the one who retrieved it from the Enchanted Forest for Regina.” He said in a rush.

“Oh…” Was all that Henry said as he processed this.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“But you wanted to hurt my mom?” Henry asked, confused. “I thought you were friends?”

Jefferson winced. “I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I had just done something very bad to Grace’s family, and had a fight with your mom… So things weren’t looking good for me at the time, and Regina promised to make things better if I helped her get rid of Emma… It was wrong, I see that now. I mean, I knew it at the time too, but… well, there is no excuse really. I did the wrong thing…”

“But you want to make up for it now, right?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, that’s why I came here today. To try and begin to make things right.”

Henry nodded. “Then I forgive you.”

Jefferson was flabbergasted. “Wha- Just like that? Henry, I almost _killed_ you, _and_ your mom!”

“Yeah, but you want to make things better _now_. You feel bad about it, and now you’re here to help us. So I forgive you.”

Jefferson laughed and scrubbed his hands down his face.

“You really are something, Henry.”

Henry just grinned at him.

“You’ll make things right, Jefferson. I believe in you.”

“I hope you’re right, kid. I owe your mom a lot, and I think I owe you too, in fact.”

So Jefferson stood, and then knelt in front of Henry on the floor.

“What are you doing?” The boy asked.

Jefferson just smiled a little conspiratorially.

“Henry Mills, will you accept an oath of fealty from a humble hatter? And accept him into your service to be used as you see fit?”

Henry grinned at him, obviously delighted.

“Yeah, sure.” He said.

“You sure you want to indebt yourself to a ten-year-old, Jefferson?” a voice came from the arm chair across the room.

“Well, there are worse masters, and I kinda already swore one to his mother so why not?”

“Oh, is _that_ what you were calling it? Sounded more like you were kissing her from what Mary Margaret told me…” David said, darkly.

Jefferson went beet red, as Henry cried. “You kissed my mom?!”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with this fic. It’s been a bit rough in the telling, but I’ve enjoyed it and I’m looking forward to moving on to new things. This has been a series of fics nearly three years in the making and it’s very strange to think that they’re done. I’ve got plans in the works for another Mad Swan fic, not necessarily a continuation of this series but very much dealing with the consequences of Jefferson’s actions from the end of Season 1. (Plus I love Cora as a villain, so I want to try my hand at writing her.)
> 
> As for this series: to be honest, I have no idea how Jefferson will convince Emma to forgive him for what he’s done, thus the unsatisfactory ending. But I know I’ve got a couple plot bunnies hopping around in terms of one shots and stuff set after the end of this story that will resolve things a bit more. Those will probably start showing up in the next couple weeks. 
> 
> Anyway, again thank you for reading. And a huge thank you to those who left comments and reviews not just on this story but on the others as well. It’s been your support that’s really kept me writing for this pairing even though the ship isn’t terribly active any more. So thank you, thank you, thank you, and thank you again. Hopefully I’ll see you all again with one of my future stories. But for now, fairfarren all.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked it why not review? Something short and simple as “Liked it!” would be completely acceptable. If you didn’t like it, please review! I’d like to improve my writing abilities, so constructive criticism is welcomed as well.


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